Incubus in Me
by WeepingBeauty
Summary: A year ago, he went away. Quentin and I chased him from our dreams, refusing to let him stay. Still, here I sit today. All by myself and shaking in fear, thoughts in a disarray...I dare to wonder; is he back? Or has my sanity simply gone astray?


This story is based on the 2010 version of A Nightmare on Elm Street, my favorite version. Please, please, PLEASE review! Reviews = everything good in life. ;)

**Chapter 1 - Peanut butter bagels**

"I don't get it. What's wrong with putting cream cheese on your bagel like a normal person?" I chuckled at Quentin. The question was obviously a rhetorical one.

Silly Quentin. He always had to act unlike everybody else, if only in small ways. Be it for the odd stares he received on a daily basis, those awkward giggles, or 'just because.' That was his favorite explanation. But hey, that was Quentin for you. Always thinking outside the box…he dared to be different.

As for me, well…I'd dared to learn loving them. His quirks. And believe me, he had almost as many of those as he did compliments for me.

"Your hair looks nice today," he cooed in a low tone, snapping me out of a trance I didn't realize I was in.

As our eyes met, he smiled at me; that warm, always sincere smile he knew was my favorite. I wrapped a dangling strand around my index and middle finger, swirling the brunette locks absent-mindedly.

"Thanks," I whispered, smiling back at him in an almost bashful way. I don't know why, but to this day…compliments made me uncomfortable. I liked them, yet somehow I felt I was…_undeserving _to receive any. Yeah, that's the word. Undeserving.

"Anyway," he went on, "don't knock it 'til you try it."

I could hear the last scraping sound of too little peanut butter being spread over too much bread. He swiped the butter knife in circular motions, covering the entire bagel with thin layers. Then, he took a bite.

"It's delicious!"

"Oh, yeah." I felt an automatic 'ew, get that away from me' expression take over my features as he held it toward my mouth. "I'm sure it is…"

"Suit yourself," Quentin laughed as he took another mouthful of odd combination. "More tasty goodness for me." I smirked at the little wink he gave, almost daring me to surprise him and taste his self-invented breakfast. But I guess I was just way too predictable, and went back to quietly sipping my coffee instead.

"Ouch!" I shrieked in surprise, as a hot rush of liquid burned my throat. _Way _too hot! The mug I was holding slipped from my fingers, my heart racing as I knew all too well what was about to happen. Knowing it was going to shatter, yet there was nothing I could do but watch helplessly…that was the worst.

_SMASH! _

Now there was coffee all over the counter, and at least half of it splashed up onto me. I cried out again, the scalding sensation now all over my chest. My brand new shirt had been thoroughly soaked and stained, too.

"Son of a _bitch!" _I yelled. It was more out of pain than anger. Quentin rushed to my side, dropping his bagel and grabbing some napkins to dry me off.

"Nance, are you okay?" His voice sounded alarmed, and I realized after calming down a bit, how great a boyfriend he was. He was always there for me, each and every time I needed him. It'd been that way for about a year now. Three-hundred sixty-two days earlier…was the day he asked me to be his girlfriend, and I said 'yes.'

"I'll be right back. I'm just gonna grab you a new shirt."

"Great, thanks."

One, long year ago that seemed more like yesterday…was back when _he _still haunted our dreams at night.

I shook my head, trying in vain to shake every last memory of…_that guy _along with it. I tried not to even think his name, because if I did that…a small, fragile part of me kept saying that would be enough. It'd be an open invitation for the horror to seep right back into our lives. And trust me, that was the last thing any of us needed. _Or _wanted.

After everything that'd happened to us, and all the trauma we'd been through…my mom thought it best for me to see a psychiatrist. I can't say the idea wasn't tempting, you know. I was pretty much in shock for months after…_that _person…killed nearly all of the important people in my life. He tried to kill Quentin, and my mom! But not me…never me. And thanking god was the least I could do every day…thanking him that Freddy hadn't succeeded.

"FUCK!"

"Nancy? What is it?" Quentin had just come back from my bedroom with a clean shirt to hear my profanity. "What's the matter, did you spill it again?"

"No…no, I didn't." My voice was flustered, and he could tell. He'd heard me this way all too many times before, recognizing almost straight away what was wrong.

"It's nothing, I'm fine."

"Nancy, look at me." His voice was barely a whisper, but I obeyed. His index finger and thumb gently lifted my head to meet his gaze, and when it did…my eyes must have looked horrified. Because he drew back.

"You thought his name again, didn't you?"

I sighed, hanging my head in shame. "It was an accident."

His sighs now outweighed mine. I stole an upward glance, seeing his face contort from worry to fear. He didn't like to let me know how much it scared him when either of us thought of…of you-know-who. But it did, and for wearing my emotions on my sleeve, I felt sorry.

"Third time this week, right?" he said. But it wasn't a question. He was actually keeping tabs on my mind's most forbidden musings.

"Yeah…third time."

"Christ, Nancy."

"I know! I'm sorry…This isn't as easy for me as it is for you. You know? I wish it were."

Without another word, Quentin wrapped his arms around me and hugged me close. I knew he wished he could find a way to make me stop thinking of _him. _So did I!

I buried my head in his shoulder as he rubbed soothing circles around my back. I couldn't help but feel like the bagel he was eating before; that his fingers were soft knives that spread invisible peanut butter all over me.

"Can we stay like this forever?" I smiled into his neck, eyes closed and enjoying this moment of closeness. I always felt so safe when he was around.

Quentin breathed back into me. "Hey, who's to say we couldn't try?" he grinned. I hugged him tighter, and he followed my lead.

It was supposed to be that way. After the tragedy struck Springwood, only a short year ago…my mom wanted me to see a therapist, like I said. But I couldn't, I refused. Quentin and I had made a pact. A pact we both promised each other meant we'd never say _his _name out loud again. Or talk about _him_. Or even think of _him_…if we could help it.

Which _definitely_ ruled therapy out.

If we did that, we were afraid he might come back. Like the monster once told me, memories were what fueled him. So if we went on with our lives, if we _tried _to forget, maybe that'd be enough to keep us safe. And so far…so far, it had.

Naturally, we were going to slip up. Like I did today. It was usually me, which was no ego booster. How could Quentin keep everything so far from his mind? I just didn't get it. I envied him for it, but I didn't understand. After something that bad happens to someone, you can never forget…no matter how hard you try. Unless of course…he was faking sanity on my behalf.

His dad making him get a job at the local bookstore might also be helping to distract him. To shift his focus. After graduation, which was about three weeks ago…Quentin went right to work.

Me, on the other hand…I stayed home most of the time. Not having many living friends left, the solitude was a welcome change. A time when I could relax, and worry about nothing but myself. No more pointless homework…no worried looks from teachers…no ridicule.

Neither of us could even think about college at this point. It just wasn't in the cards for me right now…and Quentin agreed. The timing wasn't right. Who knew if it ever would be? But that hardly seemed important anymore. What little future I had left was with him. He and I were the two closest people the other had. No one else had any idea what we'd been through, not really…And as far as I was concerned, it was going to stay that way.

Suddenly, a loud beeping went off, and Quentin checked his watch. I was buttoning up my spare top as my boyfriend scarfed down the rest of his bagel.

"Eight-thirty," he grumbled under his breath. A few crumbs still clung to his cheek. I laughed and brushed them off, trying to ease the mood. But he seemed hesitant to leave my side.

"Go," I told him, ignoring when he shot me a suspicious glance; the kind of look suicide attempters normally received from their loved ones.

"You're going to be late for work if you don't hurry," I reminded him. My voice was now more cheerful, with effort.

"Nancy, I don't have to go in today if you don't feel-"

"Quentin, I'm _fine._" I gave him a half-hearted smile, but it was all I could muster so he took it. "Honestly."

"Well…" A long pause. "If you're sure?"

"I'm positive. Now go! Hurry up," I urged, my hands shooing him away like a pesky fly. He threw his jacket on and before he bounded for the door, kept telling me to call him if I felt anything was wrong, or if I didn't want to be alone. I kept reassuring him that I'd be okay…thoughts are just thoughts, right? Still, he hated when I was upset.

After he was out, I sat back down at the kitchen counter and decided I was still somewhat hungry. Coffee didn't hit the spot, so I shoved a raw bagel into the toaster and waited until it popped back up, an aroma of crispy goodness wafting my way.

And then, I had the craziest idea. An almost-empty jar of peanut butter still sat across the counter from me. Quentin forgot to put it back in the cupboard, so I took it…and spread what was left over my breakfast.

After the first bite, I laughed under my breath. "Oh, Quentin. Why are you always right about everything?" My tone was sarcastic, yet amused.

"This _is _delicious!"


End file.
